Falling
by AmethystWren
Summary: Sequel to Running. Haymitch won the Quell but he's a long way from safe, and in a matter of weeks all he holds dear will be lost forever. Meanwhile, Macy Donner and Anise are having trouble adapting to life without Maysilee. And as always, girls are fawning over Rye Mellark, but he only has eyes for one. The problem is, she's not Katniss; she'll choose the hunter from the Seam.
1. Great Start, Abernathy

**At last, the sequel to _Running_! I had a couple of titles whirring round my mind, but settled on _Falling_ because it just seemed to fit. I think the deciding factor was that quote from _Batman Begins_, if I'm honest: "Why do we fall? So we can learn to pick ourselves up." It just seems to fit.**

**The fourth tribute standing (so, the one who died after Maysilee, but before George) was Digger from 11. He barely featured much, but he'll be mentioned in _Falling_ most likely.**

**Updates will, like _Running_, be on Saturdays. Unlike _Running_, this is going to be in multiple POVs so I can cover what's happening to everybody. So, umm... Enjoy? Hopefully?**

**Disclaimer: I still don't own the _Hunger Games_, or anybody you recognise from it. Or anything. Or anywhere. I also don't own the Batman quote.**

* * *

-Macy Donner-

Watching Maysilee's death on live TV was the _strangest_ thing. I didn't want to. The Hunger Games is mandatory, but I didn't want to watch it. There were plenty of cushions on the sofa with me; I could've easily hid behind one of them.

But I didn't. Because, crazy as it sounds, I figured I _owed_ her this. If she was going to die, I could at least have the courtesy to watch. Besides, what if she made some miraculous comeback? She didn't, of course, but I could hope. And I did, right until her cannon boomed. And even then, I kept on hoping.

Now, sitting in Anise's living room, watching Haymitch's interview… It just seems to solidify the inescapable in my mind.

"He looks different." Anise says from beside me. We're both sitting on her sofa, in the 'house' at the back of her family's apothecary. "I mean, not _physically_, but there's something about him."

"And what did you think of your District partners?" Caesar Flickerman asks inside the small box that is the television screen. "There were _three_, after all, this year."

Haymitch grins, though it's more forced than it would've been before, it seems. "They became friends, you know? I knew Betony anyway, but the others… Yeah, we became friends. And, of course, that made the Arena that much harder."

"He seems hollow." Anise decides firmly. "Like… Like a shadow person, almost."

I merely nod my head in agreement, watching but not really focussing as Caesar rises from his seat, shouting a 'goodnight' to his audience. Haymitch raises a hand in a small wave, and the crowd bursts into an uproar of applause. Anise stands up and heads across the room to switch the TV off. The mandatory viewing is over, after all.

"Are you okay to walk home on your own?" She asks. "I can come with you, if you like."

I shake my head as I stand up. "I'm good. See you tomorrow!"

"Bye."

The sun is setting as I head home again. Our sweet shop is only a few streets away from the Pottinger Apothecary, yet even that _little_ distance can feel like a lot when you're cold and alone.

I make sure to stick to the Town area. Not only is it quicker to get from Anise's to mine that way, but it means I'm less likely to bump into anyone from the Seam. They have a tendency to 'drown their sorrows' on a Friday night, once their shift in the mines is over, and drunken adults can be found roaming the street. I'd like to avoid meeting them, if I can help it.

The door to the sweet shop is unlocked, though the lights are off and the sign is turned to the 'closed' side. Dad's sitting on the countertop, waiting for me.

"Shut the door." He says tiredly, and I do so.

"Are you okay?" I ask, genuinely worried as I head towards him.

He nods slowly. "Yeah. I'm just a little sleepy, that's all."

I hold out a hand, which he takes as he slides off the counter and onto his feet. "Shall we go, then?"

He lets go of my hand and gives me a light push towards the door to our accommodation. "_You_ go, get some sleep. I'll be up in a moment."

"Make sure you _do_ get some sleep, Daddy." I tease, heading across the shop floor anyway.

"I _will_, cheeky." I can hear the smile in his voice as I open the door and scurry up the stairs to the short hall, with different doors feeding off it; bathroom, kitchen, master bedroom, lounge, and my room. It used to be Maysilee's too, but now…

It's best to avoid thinking about that.

Still, that particular task is easier said than done. Her bed still sits against the wall opposite to mine, the blankets still ruffled from when she last pushed them off of her, slid out of bed. And Melody doesn't help. Every time I enter the room, she trills at me, as though to ask 'Where is she? Do you know?'

I ignore the pretty yellow songbird, heading to my wardrobe. It _is_ just mine now, after all. Pulling out some fluffy red pyjamas, I change out of my dress and slip into my own bed, immediately turning to face the wall. If I can't see Maysilee's horribly empty bed, I can pretend she's still there until morning.

-Haymitch Abernathy-

After my interview, I am _whacked_. Still, apparently, Victors aren't even granted the luxury of _sleep_. Wilhelm doesn't have time to get a word in before Delicia's ushering me out of the building, through a crowd of excited Capitol citizens- all vying to get a glimpse of my gorgeous self- and into a car. I just about manage to slide into the far seat before she crams herself in beside me, with Wilhelm taking the final seat in the back of the car.

"Victors party, I presume?" The driver asks. All I can see of him in the car mirror is a pair of crazily enormous sunglasses.

"Yes, Bruno." Delicia confirms in her prim-and-proper little way.

"Party?" I groan, just about managing to keep myself from slamming my head against the cool glass of the window. "I'm too tired for parties!"

"_Curly_." Wilhelm's voice says, low and warningly. I can't see him through my escort's big dress and ridiculously large wig, but I can tell he's probably glaring at me.

I don't say anything else. I remember my mentor's words from the hospital. He knows what he's doing in a world that I'm entirely new to. I should probably listen to his advice.

* * *

At the party, there are several random Capitol people who I'm trying my best to avoid, if I can help it. My plan beforehand was to stick with Wilhelm, but he's disappeared. Maybe he's hiding under the table? I'd check, but that would look _really_ weird, and I'm not in the mood for attracting attention to myself.

I'll stay as short an amount of time as possible, and _then_ leave. That's my plan.

"Hey," A voice from behind me makes me jump. I turn to find myself face to face (or rather, face to chest) with a face familiar only from the TV.

Chaff is two metres tall, and won the 45th Hunger Games. The Capitol tend to leave him alone, these days, since he refused to have his severed arm replaced with a prosthetic one, and Capitol audiences can't _bare_ to see people without limbs walking around. Although it's _fine_ to stick twenty four of them in an Arena to fight to the death, of course. Idiots.

"I got sent over here." He grumbles, nodding across the room. "Your mentor said you need some help."

Wilhelm is having an animated discussion with one of the winners from ages ago; Seeder, also from 11. He looks over, waves brightly, and then continues his conversation.

"I was planning to stick to Seeder like glue." Chaff mutters, so that only I can hear.

"Me too." I say, quickly adding, "Stick to Wilhelm, I mean, not Seeder. Why would I stick with someone I don't know?"

The tall, dark-skinned victor laughs. "I like you, kid."

"Good to know." I mutter, before remembering my manners and holding out a hand. If Delicia was hovering over my shoulder, she'd probably give a nod of approval right about now. In fact, I'm surprised she's not here. "Haymitch."

"I know who you are." He says, though he shakes my hand anyway. His grip is crazily strong, not that I'm surprised. I mean, this guy is _enormous_. "I'm Chaff. In case you didn't recognise me."

"Don't worry; I recognise you." I assure him.

He grins and looks around. "Come on. We need to introduce you to the other victors, and Wilhelm sure as heck isn't going to."

I look across the room. My mentor is still gossiping with Seeder, paying me no attention whatsoever. Fantastic mentor _he_ is, eh?

Still, Chaff isn't looking at those two. He's looking at the cluster of far more terrifying-looking victors in the opposite direction. The only one who doesn't look remotely scary is Mags, and she's standing next to a guy from 7 so bulky that he _more_ than makes up for that.

"I'm good for now." I hurriedly make up an excuse. "I'm… Tired! Yes, very, very tired."

"You can't go home yet." The victor from 11 tells me bluntly. "You have to stay at least two hours; they're the rules."

"Then I'll go… Sleep under the table?" I finish lamely.

He shakes his head and walks away, no doubt muttering about how weird I am.

"_Great_ start, Abernathy." Maysilee comments from behind me.

I walk away, towards Wilhelm and Seeder, and hope she'll leave me _alone_. I know she won't, though. No, she's way too annoying for that.


	2. A Gorgeous Morning

-Delicia Lace-

As usual, I wake early to another _gorgeously_ bad mood. Ah, mornings. Are there truly these 'morning people' that the television so frequently mentions in this world? I have yet to meet one!

Staggering out of bed, I reach the ordering booth in the corner and lean my head against the wall beside it.

"Coffee." I say loudly, and sleepily. "Lots and lots of coffee."

I head over to the large, _gorgeous_ wardrobe in the corner and fling the doors open. I think _this_ purple dress will do nicely, and I have _just_ the wig for it! I've just about changed out of my warm, cosy pyjamas and into the purple, bow-covered dress when there's a knock at the door.

"Yes?" I trill. The door swings open and an Avox enters, carrying my beloved tray of coffee. I almost want to stroke it, I'm so glad to see it. But I don't. I mean, that would just be _absurd_!

Having sent the Avox from the room- I've no further need of _him_- I lift the steaming polystyrene cup from the tray and take a sip.

Oh my God, it _burns_! Surely I'm going to die this time!

Ahh… That's so lovely… Mmm…

I don't even _like_ the taste of coffee, but nothing does a more _gorgeous_ job of waking one up in the morning.

Taking the last gulp of coffee, I toss the cup and tray into the bin in the corner. They're both disposable; it makes for a much quicker start to the day, and any efficient Capitol girl knows that a quick start makes for a better day.

I choose a red wig- the one that matches this purple dress gorgeously! Red and purple are the fashion this week, according to Capitol Fashion Weekly Issue #2453. Along with curls; Haymitch Abernathy, our latest Victor, has a _fine_ set of curls, and people are rushing to imitate them. Annoyingly, this wig's locks are as straight as can be! Still, Wilhelm's hair is straight; I could always say that I'm sticking with my first Victor. I mean, he won the first year I was an escort. I feel we have a connection there.

Now, being escort for District 12 means that, this year, I have the most _wondrous_ task of awakening the Victor. He's heading home today, so he should be in a better mood than yesterday. _Yesterday_, the little tyrant threw his lamp at me. I honestly wished for one of those old-fashioned lamps, those that you plug into the wall. Because honestly, it hurts when these newfangled things collide with your head!

I'm so caught up in thought that I almost forget to put my heels on. Silly Delicia! You'll be the laughing stock of Panem if you're shown on live TV without your heels!

Fully clothed- right down to the heels- I glide down the hall to Haymitch's dormitory. I knock politely before trying to open the door. He's locked it.

"Haymitch!" I call brightly. "Breakfast time!"

The only response I receive is a tired, noncommittal grunt. Satisfied that that's the best I'll be getting from him at this hour, I head down the hall, down the steps, and towards the dining area.

-Wilhelm Charter-

Click-clack, click-clack. I've been around Delicia Lace for several years now, ever since I won my Games; the only thing that sound could be is heels on the floor of the District 12 floor. Which means I have two options of action, one of which is _highly_ impossible.

Inwardly groaning, I crawl out from under the dining table and get to my feet. Sure enough, a rather frightening purple-clad woman with blood-red hair is trip-trapping her way towards me.

Delicia. Has to be.

"Wilhelm!" She scolds. "Were you sleeping under the table _again_?" Her hands find their way to that ridiculously skinny waist atop a pair of ridiculously large hips, where they rest, waiting for my answer.

"No, Delicia," I lie, keeping my tone serious. "You're imagining things."

"Then how come I saw-"

"Your eyes can deceive you." I trill brightly. My tone of voice hurts my ears. Ow. I need something to wake me up. "Coffee?"

"We have to wait for Haymitch and Leo before we start eating; it's impolite otherwise." Delicia insists.

Rolling my eyes, I lunge for the bottle of coca-cola on the table. Twisting the lid off, I place it on the table and don't even bother to wait for the bubbles to go down before raising the bottle to my lips and drinking straight from it.

It takes all my will power not to laugh; Delicia's scolding me like there's no tomorrow.

-Rye Mellark-

"So I… Are you even _listening_, Rye?"

"What?" I turn to face her before realising, due to that very expectant look on her face, that she must've asked me a question. "Yes. Yes, of course."

"Are you lying?" She raises a sandy eyebrow and folds her arms.

"Bonnie, would I lie to you?"

"Yes."

"Ouch." We carry on walking, have been the whole while. Bonnie takes the opportunity to 'accidentally' shove into my side. I return the gesture. This, as per usual, amounts into a full-blown shove war, complete with laughing and walking in some kind of funny zigzag to avoid her, only for that to be _completely_ in vain because she just follows me.

I stop walking suddenly when I spot a familiar pair of blonde braids across the road from us, just automatically. I always feel the need to watch her pass by if I see her. Bonnie stops beside me and follows my gaze. With a roll of her eyes, she nudges me with her shoulder and stalks off ahead.

I run to catch up with her. "Sorry. I just…" Can't finish that sentence. I just can't finish that sentence.

"I know." She assures me. Adopting a high-pitched voice that most _certainly_ is _not_ mine, she trills "I've had a crush on Anise Pottingner ever since I saw her rescue that straggly kitten from that puddle."

"It was a dog, actually." I correct her. "And the well, not a puddle."

"Whatever, Rye." She drones, like this is a conversation she's grown bored of. It probably is. "Well, this is the gate."

It is indeed. We walk through it onto the school 'playground', if it can be called that. It's more like a vast expanse of dirt between the fence and the school building. "See you later, Bonnie."

She smiles and nods her head. "Yep. See ya!" She runs off towards the school building. We're in different classrooms, so there's no point in me following her through that entrance when it's quicker to go round the back for me.

My eyes find Anise. She's standing a little way away from the front entrance, chatting with a tall boy from the Seam. It takes a few seconds for me to place him as Herbert Everdeen; rumour has it that he hunts in the forest outside the Seam. It wouldn't surprise me if he does; his arm muscles have got to come from something besides lifting bags of flour, and there's not exactly much in the way of exercise in the Seam.

Shaking my head, I start walking round the school, to the back entrance. I hope Anise's not getting herself in further than she can deal with.

-Anise Pottingner-

By the time I reach school, I'm not in the most fantastic of moods. Firstly, the sky looks like it's threatening to rain; grey, overcast. And secondly, I've had to walk to school alone today. Haymitch is arriving back again, and Macy has decided to take up the invitation of going to meet him.

"I have to thank him, Anise." She explained to me on the sweet shop doorstep this morning. "Or at least _try_ to."

"I understand." I assured her, giving her a quick hug before hurrying off towards school. And I _do_ understand, I'm just feeling slightly bitter about having to walk alone.

Still, I walk a lot faster on my own, and I reach school in what feels like it should be record time. I've just reached the door that serves as the main entrance to the school building when someone calls my name.

"Pottingner,"

I take a step to the side of the door, so that I won't be trampled by the other students walking through it, and fold my arms. "You called?"

Herbert Everdeen is about a head taller than me, so he has to look down at me in order to have a conversation. "I'm going…" He glances round nervously before lowering his voice. "_Out_ later." Normal voice. "And was wondering if you need anything?"

"Actually," I say, pausing as I try to remember my father's exact words. "Dad mentioned something about mint; we've run out. Do you think you can find any?"

"I'll try my hardest." He grins, grey eyes sparkling. "But I'm not promising anything."


	3. Welcoming Him Home

**A note about Maysilee- The Maysilee situation is _supposed_ to be confusing right about now. It'll clear up eventually. There is a plan where she's concerned, don't worry; she's not just there because I like writing her. That's just a bonus :)**

* * *

-Haymitch Abernathy-

Delicia recommended that I 'enjoy' my last few hours on the train. The closest I've got to 'enjoying' myself is lying sprawled across the plush sofa, staring at the carpet. I think I've been here for hours, but I haven't exactly been counting. And I don't think there's even a clock on this train.

My feet sink into the sofa a little more as someone sits down beside them.

"Curly, sit up." My mentor instructs.

"No." I grumble, my eyes still fixed on the soft, fluffy carpet. It sure makes the bare wooden floors back home look even more lame than they did already.

He sighs agitatedly. "We're almost there now. You're going to have to get up."

Groaning, I sit up and glare at him.

"That's not going to work on me, kid." Wilhelm says bluntly. "Go, put your shoes on. You'll need them in 12."

"I _know_." I spout out, sliding off the sofa and trudging across the lounge area towards my dorm.

It takes a lot of willpower not to look at the empty space against the wall where Baxter's bed used to be. Because there's usually only one tribute each year, apparently they took out the 'extra' things once we'd been sent off to the arena. Any trace of Baxter has been wiped from the penthouse, it seems. Though that spot where his bed was is still strangely empty. I can't stand on the carpet over there without feeling a chill sweep over me.

"Remember," She says, hopping off of her seat on the window ledge and striding across the room towards her. "You have to tell Macy that I miss her."

"Why can't _you_ tell her?" I ask.

Maysilee folds her arms. "I would if I could. But, if we're going to be technical, Seeder said I'm 'just a figment of your imagination'."

"And you're going to listen to _her_?"

"Yep."

I roll my eyes. "_Fine_. I'll tell her. But then you have to disappear."

"After the funeral, Billy said."

"Again, you're going to trust him?"

She nods her head confidently. "He was a good guy, Grouchy-pants."

"Each to their own." I mutter under my breath. Looking up at her, I point towards the door. "Scat; I'm going to have a shower, and, figment of my imagination or not, I am _not_ having you in here."

"What makes you think I would _want_ to be in here?" She snorts, disgusted. Still, she vanishes into the air around us in the blink of an eye, merely confirming my suspicion that she doesn't exist. Not anymore.

Grabbing a towel, I slip into the bathroom before I start to over think this.

-Francis Keatley-

The best dress I can find is the one I wore to the Reaping; the faded blue one, which used to be enormous on me. Whenever Mum reminds me of this fact, of the way that it used to trail across the floor like a ball-gown, I can't help but try to picture how small I must've been. Now, the dress sits just above my knees.

I doubt Haymitch will appreciate me wearing my Reaping dress to meet him after all he's been through, but considering that it's all I have, I'll have to make do. This will be on TV, after all, and I want to look my best for that, I guess.

Running my fingers through my brown hair as I leave the house, I walk in the opposite direction of school. The train station is a location everyone knows the way to, but no-one ever visits; unless you're reaped, you don't really have a reason to. The last time someone from 12 won the Hunger Games, it was ages ago, when my parents were children.

The walk is short, and soon I'm hurrying towards the Cliff family as they wait on the platform for the train to arrive. Toby clings to his Dad's hand, and Mr. Cliff, too, holds onto his son like he's afraid he'll lose him. After watching what happened to Bet, I wouldn't be surprised if he is. Beside him stands his wife, cradling baby Gracie as tightly as she dares.

"Can I stand with you?" I ask. "Dad's at work, and Mum-"

"Yes, of course, dear!" Mrs. Cliff interrupts. "He shouldn't be long now."

I smile my thanks and walk around her. Crouching down on the floor, I look into Toby's silvery eyes. "How are you, Toby?" I ask softly.

Mr. Cliff's grip tightens, ever so slightly, as his only son raises his free hand to suck on his thumb. Raising a hand, I pull his fingers away from his mouth as gently as I can. It's a habit his parents are adamant that they'll break, as they can't afford the dentistry operation that would be required to straighten his teeth later in life.

There's a whoosh noise behind me, and I feel my hair fly to one side in a torrent of air. Biting back the swear words I want to say (I can't do that in front of Gracie and Toby), I rise to my feet and turn around.

The train doors slide open and Delicia Lace steps out, wearing a purple dress, scattered with what appears to be a random pattern of bows here and there. Behind her is Wilhelm, his expression carefully guarded, his arms folded casually. And beside him is Haymitch.

It takes all my strength- both mental and physical- not to run towards him and wrap my arms around him right here, right now. He'll come over when he's ready.

-Macy Donner-

I was pretty sure I dressed down. This mint-green dress is fairly plain, _I_ think. Still, I stick out like sore thumb in amongst all of these Seam folk, here to welcome home a boy they've actually had a conversation with.

Delicia stands on the platform and gives what I suspect is supposed to be a moving speech about how proud she is of 'the underdog District'. About halfway through, Haymitch pushes past her and runs towards a woman with a distinct Seam look about her. Mind you, _most_ people here today seem to have that air.

She releases her grip on the ten year old by her side and wraps her arms around the latest victor, holding him so tightly that, for a moment, I wonder if she's planning on ever letting him go. She's just pulling away when a tall, bristly man scoops her and Haymitch up in a bear hug. The ten year old boy studies the scene for a moment before hurling himself at the group.

The Abernathy family; reunited at last. I wish I could say the same for ours.

Haymitch worms his way out of the group and, with one last fleeting look in their direction, heads towards another grubby-looking family. He gets perhaps halfway there when he freezes. Seemingly involuntarily, his fists clench. With a curt nod in the direction of a girl whom I vaguely recognise from school- Frances?- he turns on the spot and scans the crowd.

And then he's striding towards me, and I'm trying to remind myself why, exactly, I came here in the first place.

-Haymitch Abernathy-

It takes a lot of effort to pull myself away from my family. It doesn't help that, the moment I have, Benn's looking up at me with those wide eyes, pleading for me to stay.

"I'll be back." I promise him, turning and looking for Frances. I'm surprised so many people showed up to meet me; I hardly _know_ half these people!

Frances lifts her hand in a small wave and I start to head over. Her face breaks into a smile, and I feel myself mirroring it. And I'm happy, for what feels like the first time in a long while. It isn't until I've almost reached her that I realise who she's standing with. My feet stop of their own accord.

I might've been okay. If it was just Mrs. Cliff and Gracie, I might've been able to greet them. If it was just Mr. Cliff. But Toby's sucking his thumb (a habit his parents are adamant that they'll break), staring up at me in a way so reminiscent of his older sister. My hands clench into fists as my mind starts to relay images of what Pixie could've done to her. Or Veronica, with her shining blonde hair. Maybe even that guy from 4 Maysilee's so willing to plant her faith in.

Frances' smile vanishes as she studies my expression carefully. "Are you okay?" She mouths.

I nod once, firmly, turning round and looking for someone else I know, someone to take my mind away from torturing the memory of the sweetest little girl I've ever met. The first person I recognise is Maysilee's sister... Macy, wasn't it? She looks so much like her but, then, that's what you get from identical twins.

Anger still flowing through my veins, I stride towards the last remaining Donner sister. Deliver the message, and go. Message, go. That way, there will be no anger-taking-out on the poor Merchant girl. Her sister could take it, could argue back; Macy looks like it'd shatter her.

-Macy Donner-

_Maysilee trusted him, Maysilee trusted him._ The phrase keeps running through my head, because she seemed to. But he looks so _scary_ when he's angry, and the fact that, just mere days ago, he gauged the eye of the girl from 1 out of her face while she was still alive is a pretty alarming one.

He stops just in front of me and takes a deep breath, like he's preparing himself for something. I count his mouth opening and closing three times, though no words come out. He doesn't seem quite so terrifying when he's so _nervous_.

"Sorry," He holds out a hand. I suspect I'm supposed to shake it. "We've never really spoken. I'm Haymitch. I take it you're… The other one, right? Macy?"

I study his hand for a moment before pushing it aside. He looks offended, but before he can say anything, I've flung myself forward and wrapped my arms around him.

"Thank you." I whisper.

"For what?" He splutters, clearly caught off guard by my action. Still, I can feel him awkwardly patting between my shoulder blades, like he's unsure what he's supposed to do in this situation.

"Staying with her." My voice catches in my throat. "Until the end."


	4. A Ruined Plan

**One of my friends from school has written a _Hunger Games_ poem and wants some feedback from someone she does _not_ actually know, considering that her two reviews are from me and one of our other school friends. I'd recomend it even if I _didn't_ know her; poetry is her thing, and always has been. If you get a moment, it might be an idea to go check it out. It's called _You Don't Own Me_, and it's about Peeta. And her username is EnglishGleek.**

* * *

-Herbert Everdeen-

The moment the final bell rings, I'm walking as fast as I can, out of the school building, across the playground, through the gate. I _have_ to go to the woods. Not only is it the most surefire way of calming down after being cooped up in _that_ place all day, but I have to feed my family, and get that mint for the Pottingners. Plus, the boy nextdoor is sick and I promised his sister I'd try to find something helpful...

Must speed-walk to the woods, but must not look suspicious. I can do this.

My plan falls flat, however, when I reach the fence. Standing before it cautiously, I strain my ears as I listen for the tell-tale humming noise to signify that it's live. And it's there. I'll have to come back later.

Muttering every curse word under the sun (that I know), as well as inventing a few of my own, I stalk towards Town. It's to the apothecary, and then homewards empty-handed. It'll be fun explaining this one to Chas.

-Anise Pottingner-

When I reach the town centre, I find my feet taking me in the opposite direction to my house. It isn't until I'm standing outside the sweet shop that I realise just why they were so adamant to lead me this way. Pushing the door open, I step inside and smile at Mr. Donner as he stands behind the counter.

"Hello, Mr. Donner." I say, as kindly as I can. "Is Macy home?"

He nods. "Up in her room, I think."

"Thank you." I breeze past him, my hand still clutching the strap of my satchel as I mount the steps into the Donner residence behind the shop.

Macy's bedroom is easy enough for me to find; I've known this place my whole life, and the girls just as long. Girl. Let's not dwell on that.

As I push the door open, Melody trills, like Macy's own personal security alarm. Speaking of Macy, she's sitting on her bed, propped up on pillows, staring out the window blankly. As silently as possible, I sit down beside her and wait. She'll talk when she's ready.

"I hugged him." She says eventually, her tone unsure, as though it has to sink into her mind still. "An, he came over to apologise or something and I _hugged_ him."

"On live TV?" I splutter.

She nods. "Is that good?" She seems anxious, maybe even guilty.

"Did he get angry with you?"

"No."

"Then it's good." I wrap an arm round her shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. We sit this way for a moment, but the silence is so much worse than the talking preceding it ever was.

"I keep thinking that she's going to come in." Macy tells me; apparently, she has the same opinion of the silence as I do. "That this is all some nightmare, and I'll wake up to find her asleep, just across the room from me. But it _can't_ be, and…" She sniffles.

"Shh." I rub the arm furthest from me in an attempt to soothe her. "It's okay. You've still got me, Macy. You'll always have me."

"I know." She chokes out. Her shoulders rack with sobs, and it's all I can do to try and steady her.

She doesn't speak again, and neither do I. We don't decline back into that awful silence; her sobbing and Melody's trills more than fill that. I'm not sure how long it's been when she finally stops. It feels like a while, yet something in the back of my mind says it can't have been much longer than half an hour.

"I have to go home." I whisper as gently as I can. "My parents will be worrying."

She nods an affirmation and I untangle my arm from around her shoulders, standing up and picking my satchel up off the bed where it lay. Without glancing at the room behind me, I head down the stairs and into the shop.

"Is she okay?" Mr. Donner asks anxiously.

"Upset, understandably," I reply. "But besides that, I think she'll be fine."

He nods, taking the information in.

"Goodbye, Mr. Donner. I should be getting home."

"Yes. Yes, of course." He agrees. Sending him a friendly smile, I step out into the town outside and head for home.

-Herbert Everdeen-

As I push the door to the apothecary open, I'm a little dismayed to see Mrs. Pottingner manning the counter. If I didn't know better, I'd probably deem it impossible that she and sweet little Anise both share the same bloodline.

"Get _out_!" She shouts, upon seeing my scruffy self standing in her beloved shop. "We don't need the likes of you here."

"Mrs. P, it's me." I explain hastily. "Remember? Your husband said that I should bring you the herbs that you can't find this side of the fence."

Her eyes widen briefly in understanding, though her expression quickly reverts back to it usual cruel, heartless one. "And where _are_ these herbs, then?"

"That's what I came here to tell you. The fence is live; I can't get out today."

"Then why did you come here?"

Talking to this woman is physically painful, I've decided. "To inform you, Ma'am. Anise said you'd run out of mint, I just figured I'd let you know that you won't be getting any more today."

She rolls her blue eyes. "If you're _quite_ done, would you please _leave_? You're traipsing coal dust into the floorboards."

Fussy! It's all I can do not to introduce the… _Colourful_ language I was using earlier to her delicate little Townie ears. Angrily, I wrench the door open and walk into someone.

"Sorry!" I apologise quickly, side-stepping the person and making off down the road.

"Herbert?"

Recognising the voice, I spin round. The devil of a pharmacist's daughter stands on the doorstep to the apothecary, staring at me with a curious expression on her face that reminds me so much of a little fawn. A blue-eyed fawn, but let's not dwell on the details.

"I didn't think you'd be here so early." She admits. "Surely it takes time to…" She stops, glancing up and down the road anxiously. Luckily, there are no Peacekeepers in sight.

"I can't get there today." I tell her by way of a vague explanation. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Maybe." She agrees, adopting my round-about sort of tone. Grinning at her, I turn and head for the Seam. Chas will be waiting for me, I'm sure.

* * *

I'm almost at my house when something collides with my shoulder before falling to the floor. Looking down, I spot a fair-sized stone by my feet. Fists clenching in anger, I look around for whoever threw it.

Hazelle, my next-door neighbour who's about a year older than me, waves brightly from her front porch. Jumping down the rickety steps, clutching the banister as she does so in a way that makes the wood creak, she hurries over to me.

"What was _that_ for?" I ask her, rubbing my shoulder grumpily. This'll bruise, no doubt. "I didn't do anything to you!"

"I needed to get your attention somehow, didn't I?" She grins.

"Yeah, yeah." I grumble. "What do you want, exactly?"

"You know exactly what I want, Herb." Her tone is blunt as she holds out a grubby hand expectantly. "My brother isn't getting any better, you know."

Guiltily, I look at my feet. "I can't get out, Haze. The fence is live and I…"

She presses a hand over my mouth, silencing me forcefully as a pair of white-clad Peacekeepers march past. Only when they're a safe distance away does she remove her hand, wiping it on the fabric of her patched skirt disgustedly. "Just bare it in mind, Herb." She says warningly. "If Jose doesn't get that medicine soon, then I'm not sure he'll see the week out."

"I'll get it for you, Haze." I promise, and I mean it. I will. Jose and Hazelle are like extra siblings, in many senses. Seeing the former so sick literally breaks my heart.

She nods, though her eyes narrow, filled with a thousand threats that she won't hesitate to follow through should I break my bargain. Gulping back my fear, I grin at her in a way that I hope will ease her nerves before passing on to the next house, my house.

The door flies open before I even reach it, and my twelve year old sister has thrown herself at me.

"Did you get some game?" She asks so quickly I barely catch it.

"No, Chas," I admit, taking a step towards the house and pushing her along with me. "I'll explain once we're inside."


	5. Avoid the Medication, Curly

**My very good reason for not doing Maysilee's POV: She's dead. More on that later.**

**Moving on, I'm about midway through the next chapter of_ As Soon As It Stops _ so an update shouldn't be too far away. I know some of you reading this are also reading that, so just a heads up!**

**Thank you to Reese for 'the Maysilee conversation' idea. Jealous Frances is almost as fun as jealous Brynn. _Almost_.**

-Frances Keatley-

The sun's setting when there's finally a knock on my front door. I know who it is. To say I've been waiting wouldn't be accurate; I'd been waiting for Dad to get home, that's what I kept telling myself. Of course, when he arrived and retired to his bedroom, I stayed sitting in the front room. It was only _then_ that I realised that maybe I was waiting for someone else, someone who would have to knock on the door before entering. And that's when I decided I wasn't waiting, merely sitting with nothing to do. It's a fun little lie, even if a ridiculous one.

As I suspected, Haymitch is standing on the other side of the door when I open it. He's still wearing the smart black suit from his live arrival earlier, and his hair is still tamed by some sort of foul-smelling gel which I can literally smell from a few feet away.

"What the _hell_ have they put on your hair?!" I ask, holding my nose.

He shrugs. "Wilhelm jokingly told me it was Thousand Island Dressing."

A low whistle escapes through my lips. "They _have_ that in the Capitol?"

"Yep."

"Fancy."

He taps his foot impatiently. "Look, can I come in?"

I take a step to the side so that he can enter, which he does, striding in like he owns the place. Without breaking step, he sits down at one of the three chairs set around the table in the corner. Wordlessly, I take one of the others.

"Sorry about earlier." He says. "I just…" Trailing off, his eyes lock on mine and he cracks a small smile. "Toby looks a lot like his sister, doesn't he?" It's obvious he isn't talking about Gracie.

I just nod, knowing that, when Haymitch gets like this, it's best to just let him talk. It might not have been the Games before, but there's often something on his mind, and I'm usually his go-to girl.

"I never realised it before." He continues. "But, there's the eyes, and she always used to suck on her fingers, didn't she?"

Again, I nod.

He sighs. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"No, of course not." He glares at me. "Yes, okay, maybe a little bit. But it's best to get these things off your chest, right?"

Haymitch rubs a grey eye sleepily. "Sometimes, I suppose. I doubt it'll help much in this case, though." He drops his hand down to the table, expression deadly serious. "Frances, I _killed_ people."

"I saw."

"No, you don't get it." He insists. "Clair, from 2, she was shielding Baxter. She was _protecting_ him from me, and I killed her. I just… Killed her."

I'm not sure what to say to that, so I stay silent.

"And Maysilee…" He looks at the table.

Well, _that_ certainly captures my interest. "What about her?"

"I keep seeing her, Frances." He explains. "Everywhere I go, she's there, and I think it's driving me crazy."

"Is she now?" I raise an eyebrow, suspicion creeping into my voice.

If there was a cushion to hand, I have no doubt he would throw it at me. "Not like that! It's like… A ghost… Or something. Is that even possible?"

"I don't know." I find my fingers absent-mindedly twirling a lock of my dark hair round and around itself. "I like to think so." My gaze settles on the third chair, the empty chair. It's always empty, it's hand-sewn red cushion fading to a dull pink, a layer of dust settled across it so thickly it's as much a part of the cushion as the design stitched into the fabric.

"Sorry to broach a sore subject." Haymitch apologises, snapping my eyes back to his again.

"It's fine." I insist. "If there's no-one to prod the wounds, they'll heal. And I don't want this one to ever scab over and fade away."

"I wish I could say the same about mine." He mutters.

All too soon, he's standing up and heading for the door.

"Don't avoid me, okay?" I call after him, rising from my chair and following him to the exit. "I mean, don't get so caught up in your new, rich little friends that you forget about me."

He smiles- one of his genuine, cocky smiles, the ones I'm so much more used to seeing. "And why on earth would I do that?"

We're close. By which, I don't mean we're close friends, I mean nothing's separating our faces save for a thin slither of air. Is he going to kiss me? What am I supposed to do in this situation? Umm… Stop panicking, Frances, stop panicking.

However, my mind must be playing tricks on me, because hurriedly he's turning away from me and vanishing into the night. Good God, Frances. The fantasies of a teenage girl. With a dejected sigh, I close the door and trudge towards my own room, separated from my father's by nothing more than a thin, rusty red curtain.

-Macy Donner-

I'm awoken by a shrill screeching, which I recognise as Melody; it has to be.

"Maysilee, can you _shh_ the canary?" I grumble tiredly into my pillow.

Tears are pricking the backs of my eyes when I bolt upright seconds later, pushing the covers off of me and dashing to the golden bird cage in the corner.

"Melody," I say. "Please, shh. She isn't here, I know. I know she isn't. But you have to be quiet. Please, just be quiet. _Please_." It continues in much the same fashion, though she shows no signs of quietening, and each word I say brings me closer and closer to crying.

Unable to bear it any longer, I dash out into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind me, and burst into tears.

"Macy," Mum drops her washing basket and takes a few steps towards me, pulling me into a hug. "What's the matter?"

"She's looking for Maysilee, Mum." I force out. "And I can't bring her home again."

"Shh, shh, shh." She soothes, stroking my back up and down reassuringly. "It's alright."

It's a lie; we both know it isn't alright. But neither of us are about to admit that.

"You can take the day off school, if you want." She suggests. "I'll just tell Anise when she knocks that-"

"No!" I interrupt. Taking a shaky breath, I add more confidently, "No. Going to school will take my mind off of all this, and Anise needs a friend as much as I do."

Mum kisses the top of my head gently. "Well, then, I'll make you some porridge. Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen." She unwraps her arms from around me and picks up her wash basket, balancing it on her hip as she heads into the kitchen.

Closing my eyes for a moment, as though trying to give myself a tiny bit of extra strength, I push the door open again and try not to let Melody's onslaught of screeches reduce me to sobbing once again. I fail completely.

-Wilhelm Charter-

I hate this 'job', if I can even call it a job. Grudgingly, I traipse across the ghost town that is District 12's Victor's Village. It's easy enough to find Curly's new place; it's the one with a pair of pea green curtains. I remember overhearing his mother squealing about them in the market, bless her heart.

After knocking on the door, I tap my foot whilst I wait patiently. It's yanked open by a little boy, about ten.

"Mummy!" He shouts over his shoulder. "It's the grumpy man!" Such a _pleasant_ nickname.

The boy's mother appears in the doorway, drying soapy suds off of her hands with a tea towel. "Wilhelm," She greets, before turning her back to me and screaming "Haymitch!"

Footsteps thunder down the stairs as my darling young protégé pushes past his mum and brother, folding his arms and staring at me intently.

"_Yes_?" He says pointedly.

I ignore his tone, eyeing his bare feet. "Put some shoes on. I need you out here."

"I have school."

"Well, then, you're terribly late." I counter smugly. "It started two hours ago."

He swears loudly. His brother turns and stares at him, wide-eyed, whilst his mother ushers her youngest child away.

"Do as he says." She tells her eldest as she disappears into the house. "We don't want trouble."

But you've got it. Boy, have you got it.

Curly disappears into the house, leaving me standing on the doorstep before an open door. Tapping my foot idly, I wait for him to arrive, wearing a pair of old, ragged boots I presume are from his Seam days. As fantastic as all this luxury is, there are certain things you want to keep, no matter what. My sister's hair ribbon still lies on my bedside table, charred forevermore by the blackened soot of home.

Curly pulls the door shut behind him and waits expectantly on the doorstep beside me.

"You'd better have a good reason for this." He grumbles. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

I grin in a way I presume looks far from friendly. "Ah, the nightmares. Welcome to your new life!"

He shakes his head. "Not nightmares, as such."

My smug smile falls. "Blondie?"

He nods. "She won't leave me alone." His eyes lock on mine. "When's her funeral again?"

Smug mood; gone. Obliterated like that kid's skull, back in my Games way back when. Who knew a hammer could do so much damage? "Look, the funeral isn't going to do anything."

"How would _you_ know?" He sounds suspicious, as well he should. Suspicion is good. It will get him far.

"Because Anika said much the same thing." Understand, Curly. _Please_, understand. "The only reason she doesn't plague my thoughts constantly is because the Capitol found out."

"And…?" He presses.

A sigh escapes before I can control it. "Stuck me on medication." I lunge towards him, grab his shoulders. He flinches, but otherwise remains standing, solid as a stone wall. They'll enjoy watching him crumble. I can't let him crumble. "Don't let them put you on medication. _Don't_."

He shrugs me off. "How do I get rid of her, then?"

I shake my head. "I don't know." I start to head back down his garden path, calling over my shoulder. "No medication!"

He's probably confused as heck right now. He'll get it. Eventually. Probably. Maybe.


	6. Melody

**Sorry I didn't update yesterday! I've had a lot of homework. As it is, I spent the last few hours writing a history essay on a topic I don't find wonderfully exciting.**

**Anyways, enjoy! :)**

* * *

-Herbert Everdeen-

School crawls by. When we're _finally_ dismissed at three in the afternoon, I'm up and walking as fast as I can without looking suspicious. This time, when I reach the fence and listen out for the tell-tale hum, it isn't there.

Grinning like a maniac, I push my school satchel through the hole in the fence before lying flat on the floor and sliding across the rough gravel after it, standing up and dusting my already grubby shirt off once I reach the other side. The first few times I had to get through to the woods that way, it hurt the skin on my tummy like crazy. But not as much as seeing my little sister go to bed hungry. Besides, as Dad always says, 'it's just a scratch'. We're from the Seam; we've had worse.

Retrieving my bow from its hiding place in a hollowed out log and replacing the space with my school satchel, I creep about the forest so as not to alert the wildlife to my presence. Always on the look out for the herbs I promised Hazelle and the Pottingners, of course.

-Macy Donner-

"Bye." I wave to Anise as she carries on her journey home alone, opening the door to our sweet shop and spying Dad at the counter. He smiles at me and raises his left hand in a slight wave.

"How was school?" He asks.

I shake my school bag off my shoulders. It crashes against the floor with a loud 'thud'. "Not very exciting."

He grins. "Pick your bag up, would you? It looks bad if you leave it in the middle of the shop."

Stooping, I pick up one of the straps and lift my rucksack off the floor.

"There's a good girl." He praises. "Your mother's gone out somewhere; she said she'll be back in time for dinner." He looks at me expectantly.

"I'll start dinner." I promise him, already heading towards the steps up to our room. "Where's she gone, anyway?"

The door opens and Dad busies himself with chatting to Mrs. Mellark, the baker's wife. She's a sweet lady, to the point that it's actually rather annoying. Her sons are often caught looking embarrassed when she hugs them dramatically in the middle of Town, or delivers a sloppy kiss on their cheeks.

Shaking my head, I traipse up the stairs and into my room.

As I fling my bag onto my bed, there's a distinct sense that something's missing. It's too quiet, in a way that's not entirely unpleasant, though it's certainly a little unnerving.

"Maysilee?" I whisper. Foolish as it may seem, my first thought is that perhaps it's my sister's spirit, returned from the dead. But it can't be. That's just silly.

With a shrug of my shoulders, I head for the door so that I can get to the kitchen and make a start on dinner. My hand has just touched the brass knob of the door handle when I realise what's missing.

There's no bird cage in the corner of the room.

-Anise Pottingner-

Just as yesterday, I'm about to yank on the door to our apothecary when it swings open and almost smacks me in the face. I open my mouth to scold Herbert Everdeen- who is, understandably, the first person that springs to mind considering it was he who did this yesterday- and promptly close it.

Mrs. Donner scurries out of the building and smiles at me kindly.

"Is everything okay?" I ask. Being that my home, which she's just leaving, is the medicine shop, my first thought is that she has fallen ill. She, or her husband- I haven't seen him today, either.

She shakes her head. "No. I just had to do something." Her voice drops to a whisper. "Look after her."

"Um… Of course…" I promise, not entirely sure what she's talking about here.

Satisfied, Mrs. Donner nods her head and sets of down the road, in the direction of her husband's beloved sweet shop. Smiling to myself at her familiar antics, I let myself into my parents' apothecary, taking in the homely scent of ground herbs and spices.

"Good afternoon." Mum greets, her slender fingers tapping out a tune on the countertop. "Mrs. Donner just came."

"I saw her." I reply, glancing back at the door, as though she'll still be standing outside. Despite the fact that I just saw her walk away. Man, I must be tired! School does that to you. "Is everything alright?"

Mum's face turns serious. "Her daughter was stabbed to death by a flock of birds on national television," She points out bluntly. "Would _you_ be alright?"

I shake my head. I wouldn't be. And that fact that it was _Maysilee_ makes this all so much more upsetting. She truly was the fun, joking third of our trio. Without her, it's difficult for either me or Macy to know what to say to the other.

"She left you something." Mum continues. "It's a screechy little bugger. Apparently, it's been terrifying her other daughter, so she's fobbed it off on you."

"Melody." I whisper, mostly to myself than anything else.

"_Anise, you can have my canary."_

Only dimly aware of the fact that my mother's still talking to me, I sweep past the counter and dash into our living quarters out back. Slamming into my bedroom door, pushing it open, I hang my bag on the hook on the wall and look around.

There, across the room from me, sits a golden, domed cage. It's set by the window, which looks out onto the street, though the cage's occupant doesn't seem too excited by the view right now. Her yellow-feathered head tilts to one side in curiosity as I approach her.

"Hello, Melody," I say softly. "My, you're still a beautiful little thing, aren't you?" She continues to study me suspiciously. "Have you come to stay? Hm? Are you going to stay here?" If anything, the bird's gaze grows more and more intense. "You be good, yeah? I need to go help Mum down in the shop, okay? You be a good girl, Melody."

I turn and head back towards the door. That's when Melody calls out. I know I shouldn't, I know I should go help Mum like I _always_ do after school, but I find my feet taking me back across the room towards the songbird anyway.

"Shh." I soothe. "Shh, shh, shh. It's okay. Shh."

Eventually, I'm not sure how long it takes, she grows silent. Unable to bear the thought of leaving her, just in case it throws her into uproar once more, I pull the chair from my desk and place it by her cage. We look out the window together. I hum songs I know, and she stays silent, for the most part. Sometimes, she might yell at the odd stranger who walks past, like an overly eager security alarm. When people enter the apothecary, it's all the worse as they're actually _inside_ the building. In my calmest voice, I tell her who they are, if I know them. I tell her what they're like. And that seems to be enough to reassure her once more.

"That's Herbert Everdeen." I tell her as the boy from the Seam enters the shop. "He's ever so annoying, but he risks his life to bring us herbs. Isn't that nice?"

Melody watches the street outside, silent as can be.

-Herbert Everdeen-

I enter the apothecary and have to keep myself from groaning. Instead of the nice man or his sweet little daughter, it's his monster of a wife on duty. _Again_.

"You have two minutes." She tells me. "Go."

I head up to the counter, conscious of the fact that I'm traipsing mud into the floorboards, and slap the handful of mint leaves I've gathered down on the wooden surface.

She turns to take the empty pot labelled 'mint' from the shelf behind her and removes the lid, beginning to stuff the leaves into the glass jar. "How much do you want for this?"

I shrug. "However much it's worth."

She replaces the now half-full pot on the shelf and opens the drawer on the other side of the counter, where she stores the shop's earnings. Removing a grand total of five coins, she slides them across the counter to me. "That enough?"

I nod, gathering them in my hand and holding them as tightly as I can, lest they should disappear. It's _more_ than enough. "Thank you."

"Get out." She says warningly.

Suppressing a grin (it's over, it's over!), I head for the exit and out onto the street. Right: Hazelle's place, home.


	7. The Letter

**Again, late update! _Very_ late! I had so many exams this week, I figured it was more important that I prepare for those. Luckily, there's the half term holidays now, and only one exam I can think of off the top of my head the week after.**

**Disclaimer: As well as the _Hunger Games_, and anything you recognise from it, there's also a _Wuthering Heights_ reference in this chapter. I do not own any of these things.**

* * *

-Chastity Everdeen-

Why do I have to have such a slow best friend? Tapping my foot impatiently, I wait by the school gate for my classmate. 'I just need to visit my locker, Chas' he said. About ten minutes ago. Hurry up! We were let out late anyway because Miss Hipp is a demon. Seriously, the woman is evil. Everyone else left _ages_ ago; I could be home already, if she'd just... Urgh!

Pan's sandy head (I'd recognise it anywhere) is visible across the playground as he exits the school building. He waves brightly and I run over, grabbing his wrist and storming towards the exit.

"You took your time." I mutter.

"I had to get my spare pencil from my locker!" Pan replies defensively, tearing his wrist from my grip and rubbing at it. Wow; I never knew my grip was that strong. "Otherwise I can't do the homework tonight, and Miss Hipp would kill me."

"_Slight_ exaggeration." I insist, keeping my eyes on the path ahead.

Without even turning to look at him, I know Pan's shaking his head and- oh, look, there goes the hand to push his hair out of his eyes. "Not really."

We reach the border between the Seam and the Town. Turning to face him, I smile my friendliest smile. "Well, this is my stop."

He laughs. "See you tomorrow, Chas."

"Likewise." He's already turning to walk away. Before I've finished talking to him. Typical. Huffing as loudly as I can, and ignoring the ensuing laughter of the retreating baker's son, I set off into the Seam, heading for home.

* * *

As I walk past Hazelle's house, the door opens and my darling big brother jumps off the rickety porch.

"Chas!" He calls.

I stop walking and turn to face him as he runs towards me, skidding to a halt a little way away. "You called?"

"What are you doing back so late?"

I fold my arms as best I can with this old satchel slung over my shoulder. It was our mother's when she was in school, so it's about as old and battered as a bag can get. "Miss Hipp let us out late," I begin to list off the reasons. "Pan had to go to his locker. I had to wait for him. He walks slower than you-"

"Hey!" Herbert cuts in. "I don't walk _that_ slowly."

I turn away from him and begin to tiptoe as slowly as possible down the road. It's a pretty accurate re-enactment of his 'hunting walk', if I do say so myself. Even if I've only ever seen it once.

A pair of arms wrap themselves around me from behind and lift me off the floor. I laugh as my brother spins me round. "That's my _special_ walk; I don't use it normally!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

We continue like this as he carries me to our front door and opens it. It's then that I wriggle free of his grip and dash through into the tiny, tiny 'kitchen' area.

"There you are!" Mum smiles. "Is Herbert home?"

"I brought back dinner!" My brother calls from the main room in response.

She laughs. "Come in here and whack it in the pot."

-Macy Donner-

It's strange, lying in bed in such silence. I can't hear Maysilee's breathing, or her snide comments, and Melody's not there to trill her own sorrows the night through. You never realise how loud a room is until it's completely quiet, it seems.

After an hour of lying sleeplessly in bed, I push the covers away and leave my room, heading into the small living room. My mother's long since gone to bed, but Daddy's still awake, reading on the sofa.

"I can't sleep." I tell him.

He pats the seat beside him on the sofa and I head over, collapsing backwards onto it and closing my eyes. They're so heavy, so tired; why can't I just _sleep_?

"What're you reading?" I ask him, opening one eye.

"_Wuthering Heights_." Mum's favourite. "Why?"

I take a deep breath, preparing to ask him a question I haven't in years. "Will you read me a bedtime story?"

I look up at him, anxiously awaiting his response. He smiles. "Of course."

-Haymitch Abernathy-

"Haymitch, Haymitch, Haymitch!" Benn shouts. Before I have chance to even _partially_ wake up, a weight falls from the heavens directly onto my stomach. I flinch involuntarily. The scar may be gone, but the memory of having to hold my intestines inside my body as I run for my life is still there.

"You're too old for this now, Benn." I groan, struggling to push my ten year old brother off of me. "And I don't have to go to school if I don't want to; I'm rich as heck now, without a job."

"That's not what I'm waking you up for!" The dark-haired boy giggles. "You have a letter. Mum said to get you."

You won the Hunger Games, Haymitch; you can push a ten year old off your stomach. Forcing my weight against him, I send Benn sprawling backwards against my bed as I climb out from under the duvet and head downstairs, still clad in a pair of warm, Capitol-style pyjamas and yesterday's socks.

Mum's waiting in the kitchen. She hands me the envelope casually and continues wiping the surfaces with a yellow cloth until they gleam like silver. They could even _be_ silver, knowing the standards of these places.

I take a seat at the table and run my finger under the seal of the envelope, opening it.

"It smells strange." Benn comments as he enters the room. "The letter, I mean."

"Like roses." I agree, not really taking note. What weirdo smells letters?

Mum appears over my shoulder, hovering in the sort of way only she can. "What does it say? Who's it from?"

-Wilhelm Charter-

I'm making the most of my luxury TV. It's pretty jazzy, as far as Victor perks go. It actually _is_ a perk, as opposed to some of the others. Like the asylums. Seriously, how _they_ can be counted a bonus I will never know.

A pounding at me door tears me away from the current episode of '_What's That Question?_ ' I stand and head over to answer it.

Curly's on the doorstep, quite visibly fuming. He hands me a letter forcefully and pushes past me, into my house. I just stand there for a moment, paper in hand, trying to make sense of the situation. It takes a moment for me to shut the door and follow him into the living room.

He's slumped in a chair, arms folded, glaring at nothing in particular. I resume my previous seat on the sofa and read through the letter. Oh dear. Oh _dear_, oh dear, oh dear.

"When did this come?" I ask my young protégé.

"This morning." He replies, still staring holes into my carpet.

That's good. We have time. Hopefully.

"How'd you get out of this, Wilhelm?" He finally looks up. He isn't scared. Most kids his age would be terrified out of their wits. Mind you, most kids his age haven't survived hell, have they?

"By being crazy." It's as good an answer as any.

He stares at me for a moment before grinning. "At least it's not the pills, right?"

"Right," I agree, trying my best to laugh along with him. I'm not actually sure whether just handing him over to the asylum would've been a better option; he'd have escaped this. And now… Now, I don't know what we'll do. Probably something illegal.


	8. Baking

**My goodness, it's been a while! Hopefully you do not all hate me. As it is, I should probably be in bed right now, but I'm just _not_ tired. I'm going to blame all the squeal-y excitement of having _Doctor_ _Who_ back again. God, I have missed that show!**

**I've been attacked by various _Les Mis_ ideas that would not leave me alone, which is probably the main reason this update has taken so long. So do not throw heavy objects in my general direction! ****I'm back now :D**

**I hope everyone has a happy Easter. If you don't celebrate it, then happy... Sunday! Happy Sunday! :D**

**Also, happy Oh-my-goodness-Doctor-Who-is-back day!**

* * *

-June Abernathy-

Ever since he received that letter, Haymitch has been spending more and more time with his mentor, that Charter fellow. I'd complain, but at least he's out the house. All the time he's out, he isn't moping around, wallowing in his guilt. Or worse, succumbing to his nightmares. The first night they came, explaining to Benn why he'd been awoken by his older brother screaming was an... _Interesting_ task.

My other son is still under my feet, but I don't mind. Benn is rather easy to tame; bribe him with cookery. This house, luckily, has a lot more food than we ever had back in the Seam. It's true what they say; the immediate family of a Victor most definitely do _not_ starve. Therefore, I have plenty of resources to bake with.

"Can I help?" My youngest son asks, bounding into the kitchen.

Drying my hands on a tea-towel, I turn and give him a disapproving shake of the head. "Go get dressed."

"And then can I help?" He persists.

"Do your teeth, as well." I add. "_Properly_; don't just put a bit of toothpaste on your tongue and swallow it."

He groans. "And _then_ can I help?"

"I don't see why not."

As he dashes from the room, up the stairs to his _own_ bedroom (the amazement on his face when we first moved in still brings a smile to my lips), I suppress a grin and set my towel down on the counter.

-Wilhelm Charter-

He doesn't bother knocking anymore. He just opens the door and wanders in; he knows where I'll likely be.

Today is no different. Curly enters my living room. I'm sat on the sofa, pressed as close against the arm as I can get, relishing in the small amount of comfort it provides. He takes the armchair opposite.

"He's being clever." I tell my young protégé. I don't need to clarify who _'he'_ is; we both know it's Snow.

"How so?" Curly asks.

I consider how best to word my theory; "Like a game. Look," I point at a certain point in the letter, which is in my hand. I doubt Curly can see from where he's sitting, so I explain. "He says things you wouldn't normally expect someone to."

"I just thought that's what he does." Curly wrinkles his nose. "Say things no-one normally says."

"I'm being serious. I mean _look_," I hold the letter out for him to peruse the contents of.

He shoves my hand away. "I've read it a thousand times already, Wilhelm! It basically says 'blah blah blah, treason. Blah blah blah prostitution. Blah blah consider'. What's there to be confused about?"

"Because, Curly," I adopt his method of explaining; "It also says 'blah blah blah fireworks'."

"So?" He shrugs. "I thought they're a pretty common form of celebration in the Capitol."

For one so smart, his ignorance is unnerving. "Your Victory Tour isn't for another six months. What's he celebrating?"

"Well, I guess…" Curly meets my gaze, face suddenly dawning with recognition as my theory _finally_ settles into his thick skull. "How long do we have?"

"No idea!" I reply cheerfully.

I don't feel very cheerful. At all.

-June Abernathy-

Benn comes back wearing jogging bottoms and a t-shirt. They're a few sizes too big, but the quality of the material is cosy and warm enough that I doubt he cares.

Besides, the trouser legs are so long that he can 'ice-skate' around the kitchen floor. They're the _perfect_ length, as far as he's concerned.

"What should we bake?" I ask him.

He stops 'ice-skating' and thinks for a moment. "Cookies!"

I go to the cupboard. Yes, I have all the ingredients for baking biscuits. That's good.

"With chocolate chips in!"

Ah… Turning round and forcing a smile, I inform my youngest son that there may be a slight problem; "We don't have any. You and Cris decided to devour a whole packet between the two of you the other day, _remember_?"

"But… But…" He stutters. "You can't have cookies without the chocolate chips; they're the best bit!"

I head for the door. "Come on, then." I call over my shoulder. "I guess we're going shopping."

Benn's laughter echoes throughout the house as he bounds after me, reaching the three pairs of shoes by the door before I do and pulling on the tattered pair that belong to him. I've not gotten round to taking the boys shoe-shopping yet, with our newfound wealth, but I will. It's on my to-do list.

For now, we need chocolate chips.

-Macy Donner-

When I wake up, it's quite late- nearly midday. Thank goodness for the weekend! Changing out of my pyjamas and into a sunshine yellow dress (it looks happy… I need some happiness, right now), I head downstairs barefoot to find Dad behind the shop counter.

"At last!" He says dramatically. "The beauty awakes from her hundred year slumber!"

I roll my eyes and he laughs brightly. It's the happiest I've seen him in days. I doubt he's forgotten, but maybe… Maybe he's pushed it out of his mind, for the moment. Perhaps I should try to do the same.

"Can I help you?" I offer, hoping it will help take my mind away from places I'd rather it didn't go.

He nods. "Of course."

I give him a grateful smile and make my way over, standing with him behind the counter.

Our first customer is a Peacekeeper with a muscular build, lank black hair, and a very scary glare. Much like the others in his profession.

Still, he shoots me a kindly smile whilst Dad fills a bag of sherbet lemons for him, and even leaves a little tip for us.

"Thanks," Dad says, when he realises. "But we don't really need pity money."

"It isn't pity money!" The Peacekeeper snaps defensively. "I just _really_ like sherbet lemons."

I laugh as he cockily swaggers out of the shop, paper bag filled with sweets in hand.

* * *

The next customer comes with a follower; I recognise them immediately as the woman and boy who greeted Haymitch upon his arrival home. They're his family. They got him back. We didn't get our Maysilee back.

Still, it isn't their fault, and I smile as sweetly as I can at them when they head up to the counter and ask for chocolate chips.

"We're going to bake some cookies, you see." Mrs. Abernathy explains. "I think I might go greet Cris after work, and give the boys some. To cheer them up, you know? The mines can get you awfully beaten down, from what I've seen."

Dad hands her the paper bag filled with chocolate chips. "That'll be… Three pennies."

She hands him the money. Taking her younger son's hand in one of her own, and the bag in the other, she smiles warmly. "Thank you ever so much." And they leave.

Why must she be so hard for me to dislike?

-Hazelle Cowden-

Thanks to the herbs that Herbert brought (Oh, how I _love_ his name at times like this!), Jose seems to be on the mend. He's no longer so sorry-looking, at any rate. And when I poke him, he manages to muster the strength to glare at me.

Terribly sick, but still able to scowl at me. That's Jose! And I wouldn't swap him for anything.

"Hazelle!" My younger sister (though she's older than Jose. You wouldn't think it, half the time), Camellia, calls from the tiny kitchen, sectioned off from the main room by a flimsy excuse for a door. "Help!"

I hurry through said 'door' to find my little sister staring into the depths of the cooking pot, eyes wide.

"Hazelle, it's _moving_!" She trembles, eyes fixated on whatever lies within the pot on the fire.

Pushing past her, I stand on my tiptoes and crane my neck. I can't help but groan as I lower myself back to my usual height. "It's bubbling, Cam."

"Is it supposed to do that?" She whimpers.

"Yes." I sigh. "It is. Jeez, where's Eve got to?" There is a reason Mum assigned _her_ the job of cooking in her absence, and _not_ Camellia.

"She's out with _Drew_." Camellia draws his name out. Despite being fourteen, she still finds the prospects of dating and marriage 'icky'. There's a squeal from my little sister's direction. "Hazelle, it's doing it again!"

Groaning, I push her towards the flimsy 'door'. "Go and see to Jose."

"But the dinner-!"

"_Go_ and see to Jose!" I repeat, this time louder.

She doesn't need to be asked a third time. Picking up the wooden spoon from where she left it, lying on the floor (probably dropped in a bout of terror), I stir the stew within the pot and wonder what my older sister's up to.


	9. Fireworks

**Usually, I'd wait until the morning to upload this, but I really want to get this chapter up as soon as possible. It's longer than most chapters. That's because I had the idea for the cut off point already, but the scenes with Herbert and Anise ended up longer than they were supposed to... Still, they're a sweet couple, right? Long scenes = good.**

* * *

-Wilhelm Charter-

My eyes scan the contents of Curly's letter for the umpteenth time. He's right, fireworks _are_ the standard method of celebration. But the Games finished a week ago, and the Tour won't be for another six months.

"Maybe it's a congratulations?" My young protégé suggests from the armchair. "I mean, I _did_ win."

"But you showed him up." I remind him. "And now you're declining his 'invitation'."

"I guess I'm not high on his list of favourite people right now." He jokes.

"I doubt you're even _on_ the list." I retort, eyes dropping back to the letter.

_There will be fireworks. And they will be spectacular._

-June Abernathy-

We bake two batches of cookies. After Benn and I have tested one, or two, or several, I collect the remainder in a pot, leaving three on the side for Haymitch, should he get back before we do.

"Let's go greet the miners as they leave." I say to Benn. "They could do with some cheering up."

He nods in agreement. "And cookies will make them happy."

I smile as he pulls his tattered shoes on- out of habit, I hadn't take mine off. The draught that swept across our old house in the Seam ensured that my worn boots never came off until I was snuggling beneath a ratty excuse for a blanket.

We leave, the cookie bowl safe in my arms, to help put a smile on the faces of our old neighbours. It's the least we can do, with this all this money we suddenly have.

-Herbert Everdeen-

"Where _is_ your father?" Mum wonders aloud.

Chas shrugs, dipping her finger in the pot of broth and licking it clean. "Work?"

Ma taps my sister's hand lightly with her spoon, just to say that she caught her poking tonight's dinner with her grubby little fingers and she does _not_ approve. "I'm sure he's usually home by now."

"Maybe he's gone to the pub or something." My sister suggests sleepily. She has an answer for everything, I swear. "It's Saturday, he doesn't have work tomorrow. He can get _crazy_ drunk, and then-"

"Chastity!" Ma snaps. "Your father does _not_ get drunk!"

My sister shrinks back. She knows she's in trouble when her full name is used; no-one _ever_ calls her 'Chastity'. Except, maybe, Pan Mellark. But that's only because he's her best friend; best friends have different rules when it comes to such things.

Taking pity on her, I pat the space on our under-stuffed sofa beside me and Chas scampers over, nestling into my side. I pat her shoulder awkwardly and glare at Ma.

"Well!" The woman huffs, storming back into the kitchen.

"It's alright, Chas." I tell my sister softly. "She's just worried about Dad, that's all."

The sooner he gets home, the better.

-Anise Pottingner-

"We're closed!" Mum shouts as the bell above the door tinkles, signalling someone's entry.

"Help him." A woman almost certainly from the Seam, with her dark hair and her ragged clothes, pleads. An arm wrapped round her shoulders, using her for support; someone who has the broad shoulders and height of a man, yet is shrouded in a blanket, hiding his face from view. "Please."

"Can you pay?" Mother asks. She's not heartless; not really. She just can't afford to 'waste' precious resources on someone when they might not give her the money required to buy more.

The woman bites her lip. Rather than reply, she turns slightly towards the man using her as a crutch. Lifting her hands, she pulls the blanket away from his face.

It's all I can do to keep my jaw from dropping; it's not a pretty sight at all. So many blisters, so much skin charred. So much just scorched off.

"_Please_?" She repeats, desperation creeping into her voice.

Mum shakes her head. "If you can't afford it…" Seeing the woman's scowl, she stops talking and swallows. "Look, I have to make a living too."

"Shame on you." The woman spits. "I hope you die." It seems a rather childish insult, though the woman doesn't seem to have the energy to think of anything better. Replacing the scarf around the man's face, shielding the horror of his burns from view, they leave without so much as a 'goodbye'.

* * *

When mother's back is turned, I slip some bandages and a small jar of honey into a bag. Shouldering said bag, I muster up my most innocent smile. "I'm just going to go for a walk." I say, "It's _ever_ so boring in here, and the sunsets are beautiful up by the meadow."

"Don't be out too late!" She calls after me as I leave the shop.

The moment I'm out of view from the apothecary window, I break into a run; heading for the Seam. I have to find them. Because I'll help, even if they won't pay me. Mother needn't ever know.

-Haymitch Abernathy-

I get home to find the house empty, and a note on the table:

"_Hello, Haymitch!_

_We've made cookies, and we've just gone to deliver them to the miners. We're going to wait outside, and present them to them as they leave. If we have all this crazy Victor money, we might as well spend it wisely, right?_

_We've saved you three; they're by the kettle. The rest are either going to the miners, or were 'tested' by your brother and myself. They're rather good, if I do say so myself._

_We shouldn't be too long. If you get peckish, make yourself a sandwich; there's cheese in the fridge, if you like. Oh, how I like being able to say we have a fridge!_

_Love,_

_Your Mummy xxx"_

I cringe slightly at the sign off and make my way over to the kettle, picking up one of the three chocolate chip cookies placed there and taking a bite.

She's right; these _are_ pretty good. Especially considering Benn helped. I'm surprised he hasn't burnt the kitchen down, if I'm honest. I mean, don't get me wrong; he's my brother, and I love him. But jeez, the boy can be reckless when he feels like it.

-Herbert Everdeen-

Chas takes to staring out the window, keeping an eye out for Dad. For the first fifteen minutes, I stay on the sofa and berate her for being so childish. After that, I find myself climbing to my feet and joining her.

"Childish, huh?" She taunts, smirking.

I shove her gently with my shoulder and concentrate on staring at the street outside, hoping she can't see that I'm trying my hardest to suppress a smile.

Considering the shift should've ended nearly an hour ago, the fact that there's no sign of anyone outside is almost eerie. I pray that it means everyone's home safely, and that a few of Dad's colleagues have convinced him to go have a drink at the pub. It's a little odd for him; usually, he'd at least insist on coming home first so Ma wouldn't worry; but I hold on to the hope that _that's_ where he is, _that's_ what he's doing.

"I see someone!" Chas squeals from beside me. Her excitement ebbs away quickly. "It's not him."

My eyes follow the person, with her blonde hair and her light blue summer dress that hasn't been marred by the coal that hangs in the air. "She looks lost." I comment, more to myself than to my sister beside me.

Chas snorts anyway. "Serves her right for coming here."

Still, I push away from the window sill and find my worn leather hunting boots, sliding my feet into them and heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" My sister asks, confused.

I shrug. "To help her. I'll be back in a moment." She raises an eyebrow at me and I sigh melodramatically. "You can watch out the window, _Mother_."

Satisfied, Chas turns back to the window and stares at the street outside, caught in the orange glow of the setting sun. I'll bet it looks beautiful out in the meadow.

Once outside, I shut the door behind me to preserve whatever heat Mum's coaxed out of the fire, walking over to the lost little Townie with my hands in my trouser pockets.

"Miss Pottingner," I address her.

She starts at the sound of her name, whirling round to face me. Narrowing her sky blue eyes, she shoulders her satchel. "Everdeen," She acknowledges, somewhat coldly. She has been hanging out with her mother, I'd fancy.

"You look lost." I comment, choosing to ignore her somewhat harsh tone.

"I'm out for a walk." She insists, perhaps a little more defensively than should be needed.

I raise an eyebrow. "In the _Seam_? Honestly, just because I don't live in your fancy side of 12 doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"Sorry." She mumbles. "I might be slightly lost."

"Only slightly?" I can't help but chuckle.

"Yes," She insists, "_Only_ slightly." Scuffing her buckled shoes against the less than beautiful floor, she avoids making eye contact with me, almost like she's ashamed. It's silly; _everyone_ gets lost at some point or another.

"Do you need some help then?" I offer.

She nods, almost unnoticeably. "That'd be nice."

I'm about to offer to escort her wherever she's going, but one glance back at the window reminds me of Chas and the fact that she's watching my _every_ move. She smirks tauntingly at me, and I can tell almost immediately _exactly_ what she's thinking. It's a stupid thought; even if I _did_ like Miss Pottingner, which I _don't _(well, I _do_, just not in that way), something like that'd never work.

I narrow my eyes at Chas in an attempt to be scary. Judging by the way her smirk widens into a fully fledged grin, it does no such thing. Slightly deflated, I turn back to Anise who, thankfully, has been so engrossed in staring at the floor that she didn't notice the exchange I had with my sister.

"Well?" I press politely. "Where are you headed?"

"I… I don't know their names…" She replies, glancing up at me and back at the floor again. "They came to the apothecary, only they couldn't afford the right stuff and Mum sent them away."

Typical. Still, I offer a weak smile. "What did they look like?"

"The woman had brown hair and grey eyes, olive sort of skin…" Anise trails off, almost like she can feel me looking at her. Rather than merely glancing upwards, she maintains eye contact this time. "That's not very helpful, is it?"

"Well, I don't know," I say in a round-about sort of way. "You've just about narrowed it down to everyone in the Seam."

She giggles. "She had a few freckles, too." She recalls. "Not a lot; just a few, over the bridge of her nose."

"Better…" My mind runs through all the people I know, trying to recount who has freckles and who doesn't. "Anything else? Was she with someone?"

Anise nods, and that timid sort of look comes over her again. Almost hugging the strap of her shoulder bag, it looks like it takes all her restraint not to stare at the floor again. "A man."

"What did he look like?"

"Tall…" She remembers. "He was leaning on the woman, like he was having trouble standing, and wearing a giant coat; I couldn't see much of him. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise; it's not your fault." I assure her. Studying her closely, I catch something else, something familiar through weekends and evenings spent hunting in the forest; fear. "You're scared."

"Slightly." She repeats from earlier, though the defiance has gone. She really is a lost, frightened little girl.

"What happened?" I feel the big brother side of me coming through. "Did this man say anything to offend you?"

She frantically shakes her head. "He just… What we saw of him, his face… Half of it was scorched off."

My heart drops, but I try to ignore the feeling; this could mean nothing. "And you're _sure_ this man was from the Seam?"

"Positive."

Cursing under my breath, I forget her presence for a few seconds. Looking back over at her, I find her watching me warily.

I glance back at the house, at my little sister with her teasing smile in the window, and then back at the lost little soul in front of me.

"Come inside." I offer. "Soon enough, we'll know who went to you for help. Gossip spreads like wildfire, and someone's bound to come over to chat with Ma about it."

Cautiously, slowly, she nods her head and follows me inside.

I pray Dad's out drinking with his friends, closing my eyes and whispering the words under my breath as I hold the door open for Miss Pottingner. I don't think I've ever prayed so hard for anything in my life as I do for this, right now.

-Haymitch Abernathy-

When it's dark and they're still not back, I have to forcibly remind myself that the Seam is about as far away from the Victor's Village as it can be, whilst still remaining in District 12. Because really, who would want their little celebrities mixing with the poor folk? Sarcasm intended.

Still, I've eaten all three cookies, and I actually suck at buttering bread. In the Seam, where you mostly boiled brews out of vegetables, herbs and animal carcasses, it's not like buttering bread was a much-needed skill. Besides, that's what mothers are for.

Speaking of mothers, where on _earth_ has mine got to?

-Anise Pottingner-

It wasn't scary when I was looking at it, but it seems the more time my mind has to remember the man's horribly charred face, the more terrifying the sight becomes.

_You're better than this, Anise._ I scold myself as I enter Herbert's house. He said there's a chance someone will come to chat with his mother, and the topic of conversation might fall on the destination of those two poor souls that couldn't afford our apothecary.

I hope so.

A girl, about twelve at I guess, turns away from the window and watches me warily. She's probably Herbert's sister, I'm going to say; they have a similar sort of face shape, and a similar sort of glare. I've seen his aimed at my mother enough times to recognise it.

"Chas, this is Miss Pottingner," Herbert says, "Miss Pottingner, this is my sister."

"Good evening." I greet 'Chas' with a polite nod of the head.

"Hi." She replies coldly, turning round to stare out the window.

Herbert strides past me, glancing over his shoulder pointedly. I follow him into a smaller room, containing a woman and a large cooking pot. I'm going to assume this is their kitchen. It's much smaller than ours, I can't help but notice.

"Ma, this is Miss Pottingner," He introduces me.

Again, I politely nod my head in her direction. "Good evening, Mrs Everdeen."

She smiles at me, though it's a confused sort of smile. "Are you lost, dear?"

"Miss Pottingner's parents own the apothecary, Ma," Herbert cuts in. "When someone who couldn't afford the prices was turned away, she set out to find them."

"I just have no idea where to start." I admit sheepishly.

Mrs Everdeen smiles warmly. "Well, what did they look like?"

"We've been through this already." Herbert assures her. "I told her that if someone had been hurt enough to visit Town begging for help, word'll spread pretty quick."

"That it will." The woman agrees, nodding her head for emphasis. "You're free to stay, dear, until someone shows up. Probably won't be long now; I'm like a distress magnet, I am."

"People tell Ma their problems when there's no-one else to hear them." Herbert explains proudly. "She's the best listener in the whole of Panem!"

"I don't know about that…" She replies, but she's smiling fondly.

I can't help but feel so very out of place.

* * *

When someone does show up, they're taken through to the kitchen by Chas. I recognise the Seam woman almost immediately as she who'd visited our apothecary earlier.

I've never been great at hiding my emotions, and Herbert must see my astonishment because he raises an eyebrow at me questioningly. He stands on the opposite side of the kitchen, by the door. His mother offered me a small, rickety stool to sit on about half an hour ago.

"You're the girl from the apothecary." The woman notices with disdain.

Delving into my satchel, I retrieve the little jar of honey and the roll of bandages I 'borrowed'. "These are for his face." I explain. "Honey is an antiseptic; it will stop them from getting infected, plus it's good for burns. And the bandages are for-"

"I know what bandages are for." She cuts me off.

I sit their awkwardly, holding out a bandage and a jar of honey that she doesn't look like she's going to take.

"I don't need your pity." She grumbles. "Don't try to give me something for free. We'd have paid you. Probably not your crazy high prices, but as much as we have."

"It's not pity." I lie, hoping it won't be blatantly obvious. I know it probably is.

Herbert lays a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Just take them." He tells her. "I sell the Pottingners their herbs, from the forest; consider that your payment."

"But your family and mine are completely separate." She insists. "I can't."

"You _can_ and you _will_, Dana!" Mrs Everdeen snaps.

Clearly startled, the woman, Dana, reaches out and plucks the honey and bandages from my hands. "Thanks." She mumbles, scurrying from the house with an air of embarrassment.

We hear the front door slam shut.

"It's eight o'clock." Mrs Everdeen practically whispers, staring into the murky depths of her cooking pot, almost tiredly. She probably is tired. "Your father still isn't home."

The worry that crosses Herbert's face doesn't go unnoticed.

-Haymitch Abernathy-

There are only so many times you can pace up and down the hallway before it starts to get boring. If it wasn't for the worry gnawing at my stomach, I think I'd have stopped a while ago. But pacing helps. Somehow… Somehow, it helps.

Finally, _finally_, there's a knock at the door.

I stagger towards it, yanking it open, not bothering to wonder why Mum and Benn would knock when they obviously took a key with them. Because the relief, the few seconds without that horrible, gnawing worry, is bliss.

My stomach seems to drop when I realise it isn't Mum or Benn on the doorstep at all.

Frances throws herself at me, wrapping her arms round my neck and crying into my shoulder.

Rubbing her back awkwardly, I manage to drag her inside and kick the door shut. She moves slightly so that I can take her to the living room, where I deposit her on the sofa with a box of tissues and try to weasel the matter out of her.

It gives me something to concentrate on, makes the worry go away for a while.

-Wilhelm Charter-

Fireworks. Fireworks. Fireworks. What can it mean? I'm smacking my head against the bookshelf in the living room repeatedly, hoping it'll give me a… I don't even know; an epiphany? Really, all it's going to do is give me a headache, but it seemed like a good idea when I started…

The sound of the phone ringing pulls me away from the bookcase. Crossing the living room, I stare at the device for a moment. As a rule, most people do _not_ have phones. It's probably just another Victor. Or the Capitol. The second thought makes me shudder.

Best get this over with. Raising it out of the holder and pressing the green 'answer' button, I hold it to my ear.

"Hello?" I say cautiously.

"Wilhelm?" It's Curly. I feel myself relax for a moment, before I'm wondering why he'd call me when he should be eating dinner and reading his little brother a bedtime story, or whatever it is sixteen year old boys do these days.

"Is everything alright?" I ask.

I notice someone crying in the background; too feminine to be him… His mother? "No. Can you come here, please?"

"Yeah…" I agree, despite my better judgement. "See you in ten?"

"Sounds good." A buzzing noise tells me he's hung up.

Replacing the phone in the receiver, I head to the kitchen to retrieve my shoes from the bottom shelf of the oven.

Her presence is unmistakeable, and I _know_ she's there without even needing to turn around. But I do so anyway; once I've laced my boots up, of course.

"Are you alright?" Anika asks sweetly, sitting with her legs crossed atop the table. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"Funny." I comment dryly.

I tear my gaze away from her never aging self, perpetually fifteen years old, and find it lingers on the bottle of pills beside her. _You _so_ put her there on purpose._ I scold myself mentally.

"Are you going to take them?" She asks innocently.

It's tempting. So very tempting. "No." I insist adamantly, to an apparition I know isn't there. "It's not worth it."

Without another word, I leave; the kitchen, the house. I'm off to Curly's, to settle whatever muddle he's landed himself in.

"Fireworks…" Anika's voice rings in my head, loud and clear. I try my very hardest to ignore it.

* * *

**There was a lot of clues in this chapter as to what happened. Next chapter, they'll probably outright say it, but for now, there's just a hell of a lotta hinting :D Anyone think they know what's happened?**


	10. Sir Mellark

**Hopefully this might clear some stuff up. Some of you were very close with your predictions :D**

* * *

-Anise Pottingner-

No matter how much I protest, Mrs. Everdeen insists I stay for dinner. Before I've even registered what's going on, I find myself sitting at a worn wooden table, along with Herbert and Chas.

The food is delicious, though I can't help but feel guilty for eating it. Back home, we have _more_ than enough food. Here? Here, they have barely enough to scrape by. Yet still, Mrs. Everdeen assures me it's nothing.

"You're far too skinny for someone who claims they eat enough!" She jokes.

So I eat all that she ladles into my bowl. I do not ask for seconds. And, though we all know there's a few bowlfuls left in the cooking pot, neither Herbert nor Chas do either. From somewhere, my brain latches onto the idea that Mrs. Everdeen is saving it for her husband upon his return, but that makes my heart sink and I quickly dismiss it.

It's nine o'clock when I finally manage to convince the kindly family that I really should be leaving.

"My parents will be wondering where I am." I say. "I've probably _already_ been out too late."

Mrs. Everdeen looks like she might protest, but her son gets there first. "You'd better go; your ma has _quite_ the temper."

And, of course, Herbert knows that better than most. Smiling at him gratefully, I thank Mrs. Everdeen for her kindness, wish Chas a goodnight, and exit the little house, praying I'll remember the way back home.

Mr. Everdeen still isn't back.

-Frances Keatley-

When I stop crying, I can't help but feel embarrassed. When you fancy someone you _don't_ cry in front of them. That'll just scare them away. I think.

Oh God. Did I just admit to fancying Haymitch? Oh God, oh God, oh God. That wasn't meant to happen! Even if I only said it in my head, I'm so _humiliated_. I really need to get my brain in check!

Oh God.

Of all the things to be panicking about, why has my brain picked something so trivial? Maybe it's trying to forget what had me reduced to tears in the first place. In front of Haymitch. Oh God.

I hear the front door open without so much of a knock, slamming shut as heavy footsteps thud into Haymitch's living room. I recognise Wilhelm Charter from the TV almost immdiately; District 12's first and, up until Haymitch, only Victor.

"What happened?" He asks, eyes sweeping over me and my embarrassingly tearful self, Haymitch standing in front of the window with his arms folded and eyes glassy.

Wilhelm stalks over to him and knocks on his head, like he's a door.

"Hello? Curly? You in there?" He calls out.

Haymitch turns his head to glare at his mentor. "_Yes_, Wilhelm. I am." There's something distinctly dark about his tone; you can see the boy who won the Hunger Games. Something in my head tells me that this should probably scare me, but for some strange, unknown reason it doesn't.

"What's happened?" Wilhelm asks gently, which is strange; all I've ever seen of him on TV is a cold, heartless guy who dresses in black and makes witty comments. That is, if he even speaks at all.

When Haymitch doesn't reply, I speak up for him. "There was a mine explosion."

The older victor turns to look at me, an expression on his face that tells me he'd forgotten I was there, before swivelling his attention back to Haymitch. He doesn't say a thing, but it's obvious that he's mentally prompting the younger Victor to do so.

"Mum and Benn had gone to give the miners cookies." Haymitch explains eventually, eyes still fixed glassily on the night the other side of the window. "They aren't home. I'm guessing the blast at least injured them, but I've had no confirmation." And then he turns, grey eyes brimming with tears. I _know_ Haymitch, and he'll try his hardest not to cry, but he just might anyway. "This _isn't_ a coincidence, Wilhelm! It _can't_ be!"

Wilhelm Charter looks over at me, face devoid of any sort of emotion whatsoever. "Was it a big explosion? Do you know?"

"I heard it from my house." I reply. "Though considering we only live five minutes away from the mines, that's not all _that_ impressive."

He turns back to Haymitch. "Fireworks." He mumbles.

I'm thoroughly confused, but the younger Victor's face dawns with understanding. It lasts but a moment, though, swiftly replaced by rage. "Why?"

"Because you showed him up." Wilhelm replies casually.

"Um, excuse me." I cut in, standing up and striding across the room towards the pair of them. "Am I the only one feeling very confused and left out here?"

Wilhelm opens his mouth, and I'm thinking it's probably to answer me, but before he gets chance, Haymitch is hurling himself at me in a similar fashion to the way I did him about an hour ago.

I'm surprised I don't fall over. He's quite a bit heavier than I am.

Awkwardly patting his back as best I can with this rather rushed hug he's trapped me in, I manage to turn my head towards Wilhelm. "Well?"

"I'm sorry." Haymitch… _Sobs_? The fabric of my dress is slightly damp at my shoulder, roughly where his head is. "This is all my fault."

"It's a mine explosion." I point out. "How on _earth_ is it anybody's fault?"

Wilhelm rests a hand on my head. I'm not sure if he means the gesture to be comforting, or if he's simply using me as an arm rest. "We need to explain some things to you, Lassie."

"Um, ok_ay_…" I draw out, feeling somehow even more confused than I was _before_ I asked what they were rambling on about.

Haymitch relinquishes his hold on me and Wilhelm uses the hand on my head to guide me back towards the sofa. He presses me downwards until my knees buckle and I fall into a sitting position. Through his tears, Haymitch manages to glare at his mentor and I suppress a giggle; same old Haymitch.

He and Wilhelm take a seat either side of me.

"Shall I start, or you?" Wilhelm asks Haymitch.

"You can." Haymitch takes the tissue box from the arm of the chair, where I'd dumped it earlier, and pulls a few out, dabbing at the area around his eyes.

"When Haymitch was in the Hunger Games…" Wilhelm begins, and it sounds like the start of a story. Maybe this won't be so bad.

That thought quickly dies away. It has Haymitch crying; it must be bad. He doesn't cry about just anything.

-Rye Mellark-

I can't sleep. I can't sleep. Tossing and turning in bed. I'll kick the duvet off because I'm too warm, only to find myself shivering just minutes later and pulling it back over my body again. Repeat cycle.

I'm not sure how long this has been going on when my little brother slinks into my bedroom.

"Rye?" He stage-whispers. "Are you asleep?"

I sit up. "Nope. What's up?"

"There's a _lady_ outside the shop." Pan explains, fear evident in his voice. "She won't go away." Pause. "Do you think she's a ghost?"

Suppressing a laugh, I slide out of bed and hold a hand out for my brother to latch onto. "Maybe. Let's go see."

We head down the staircase which ends behind the counter to the family bakery. Pan slips his hand out of mine.

"There." He points at something.

I follow his gaze, hopping over the counter and sliding across the wooden floor of the bakery in my slippers. Through the glass, falling directly under my brother's intent pointing, there is indeed a _lady_.

Disregarding the fact that I'm wearing a pair of red plaid pyjamas and fleecy blue slippers, I turn the lock and yank the door open. Pan's gasp meets my ears as I step outside, pulling the door shut behind me.

"Anise?" I ask hesitantly.

She sees me and immediately relaxes, sprinting over. "What are you doing out?" She gushes.

"My house is just there…" I glance over my shoulder briefly, feeling more than a little puzzled. "You?"

"I was delivering medicine to someone and got lost." She explains. There's a small amount of hesitation before she asks me, tone and expression completely serious, "So I'm _not_ in the Seam?"

"No…" I draw out. "Why? Are you supposed to be?"

"No." She mumbles, a giggle following it. "Goodness, no! It's just so _difficult_ to tell the difference between Town and the Seam when it's dark. The lights are all turned off, and I don't have a torch."

"Well," I bow dramatically, which only serves to make her laugh even more. She has such a pretty laugh; I'm surprised no-one's brought it up before. "Would you like me to walk you back to your castle, Milady? I'm sure I have a torch somewhere within my own humble abode with which we might light the way."

"Rye," She struggles to force out between snickers. "You're wearing your _pyjamas_."

She has a very good point. "Wait here." I raise two hands for emphasis. "I'll be back."

"Okay." She smiles brightly.

My stomach is doing somersaults when I open the door to the bakery once again, shutting it behind me as quietly as possible.

"Is it a ghost?" Pan practically whispers. "Did it try to kill you?"

"Nope." I say, ruffling his hair as I walk past him and up the steps. "It was a lady."

And she's letting me walk her home.

* * *

**Anybody reading_ As Soon As It Stops_, I think I'm going to stop writing that, at least for the moment. Instead I'll likely be focusing on my newer fanfic, _Haste to Leave the Crime Scene_.**

**Speaking of which :D If you're bored, or procrastinating, or whatever; I've got a new_ Hunger Games_ fic called _Haste to Leave the Crime Scene!_ It's about Annie and Finnick, and their lives etc. So, yeah, feel free to go check it out if you like the two of them :D**


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